This post is coming to you a couple of days late as the web host for www.thefalseidol.com went mental (or more appropriately got bought out and simply stopped working) and it took awhile for tech support (aka Mike) was able to remedy the sich. Aren’t I lame, I can’t even host my own darn blog. Just as a heads up The Royal Word may be moving to a new URL in coming weeks
Anyway…
Yesterday (from the time that I’m writing this post) was Canada Day. Yay Canada! I decided that since it was going to be my first Canada Day on native soil in 3 years I might as well spend it in the Nation’s Capital (The Ottawa for our Canada Impared readers). Mike was a more than gracious host, not only picking me up in Kingston on the 30th and dropping me back off on the 2nd, but also having having just wonderful friends and family who sheltered and entertained me during my visit.
And I have to say it was just the best day. Walking by Parliament Hill (missing JC‘s speech, thankfully – I was with you until you went off about Kyoto dude), having a sip of super-sweet lemonade, real Poutine for lunch, dinner on a patio (the rain shower didn’t matter), seeing The Snowbirds and The Skyhawks, getting a personal tour of Canadian Museum of Civilization from Gary, the perfect guy to have in your group on Canada Day (I totally adored the History of Men’s Fashion Exhibit) and of course… THE FIREWORKS!
17 minutes of fireworks. Dude. It was like the sky was exploding. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. We sat on the Peace Keeping Monument and watched the sky come to life over (and through) the glass walls of the National Gallery. It truly was a fun day and I just can’t get over how wonderfully friendly and positive the people in the crowds were.
I can honestly say that I have now been repatriated (or as Wendy called it “re-maple-patriated”). I have never seen so many people wearing red and white (even in a White Stripes video) and looking good to boot. I was going for the non-conformist look and just painting my toes and donning a red sweater if it got silly. But by the end of the night a Canadian flag had become part of my outfit (mostly because I was sitting on a wall in a cargo mini, but still I felt the love) and listening to people singing “O’Canada” – not sure if they’re singing it in English or French – while the fireworks finished just made me feel at home.
This is where I can say my peace and enjoy the right to vote, where the poutine is made just so, and the accents don’t sound funny to me at all.
HRH
